


hellogoodbye

by cakecakecake



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Ghost Sex, Inappropriate Use of a Ouija Board, Level 11 Sexting, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 11:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18093233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: when darling old dad said he wasn’t even skimming the surface of his potential, he wonders if ghost-fucking could possibly have been among one of the many talents he predicted his son having.





	hellogoodbye

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuse for myself okay but do i really need one

The rain hasn’t stopped for two days. He’s strung out and exhausted, low on cash and behind schedule -- he was supposed to be in the city by now, but his ride’s hung up who-knows-where with car troubles and the forty bucks in his skirt pocket could be put to better use than a piss-stinking motel. At least his coat’s getting a free wash, if he wants to look on the bright side. He sighs in resignation, putting out his cigarette before kicking down the rotting door of the cabin.

The dingy wooden planks crash to the floor with a loud _thud_. Clouds of dust puff up and send him coughing as he stumbles across the creaking floors, heels splashing in puddles as he fumbles for a working light switch. Whoever’s lived here last sure hated cleaning, he guesses, fiddling with his lighter. A few candles sit half-melted atop a shoddy coffee table and he sparks them to life, hoping he can at least give the place one sweep before crashing on the dilapidated couch. 

No mice, no roaches -- at least not as far as he can see. A few near-empty bookcases and a busted TV set, magazines and books torn up and scattered around the stained carpet. For as messy as it is, it doesn’t seem like this ranch has been abandoned for long -- either that or it’s home to squatters coming in and out. Klaus kicks off his heels and falls back on the old cushions, straining his ears when the frame creaks under his weight. He glances around at the forgotten toys, the broken lamp on an overturned cabinet, the faded and yellowed floral wallpaper from 1972 or ‘73 and thinks, well. 

It’ll do. 

He sniffs the pillow, confirms it just smells like Old People, and relaxes quickly enough to sleep.

*

It’s a few hours before he’s jolted awake by a crash.

Klaus bolts from the couch, feet cold in the musty carpet as he whirls his head about in search of the source. The candles are still burning -- he picks up the tallest one and crosses to what he looks like the kitchen. A few of the windows are shattered, broken pieces of glass littering the counters and floor. 

_careful_

Klaus yelps. “What’s that! Who’s that!” 

But there’s nothing -- no one he can see. Except Ben, of course, who he can always see.

“We’re not alone here,” he tells his brother, and Klaus groans with his whole chest.

“Oh really? I couldn’t have guessed -- "

“We should try to respect their space.” 

Klaus breathes out an exasperated sigh, but he agrees. Whirling around, arms spread, he calls out into the dark, “Hey! Just uh -- just passing through here, I’ll be outta your hair in two days tops, alright? Don’t mind me -- I won’t touch anything important -- "

“Don’t lie -- "

“Eat shit, Ben -- "

There’s a soft gust of wind through the window closest to him, the smallest one above the kitchen sink, and for a moment Klaus thinks he hears another voice, but Ben shrugs. He lets his arms drop to his sides and strides tiredly back to the couch, flopping down again.

*

Invasive amber light seeps through the dingy curtains and Klaus could honestly puke. His head is pounding, aching from the need of another fix, and Ben is leaning over him with that stupid all-knowing smirk.

“Look what I found.”

Klaus rubs his eyes, not even leaning upright. “Whaaaaat.”

“Come on, dude, look.”

“Just tell me, I’m still asleep.” 

“I think I know why this place is abandoned.” 

“Ben, seriously, I need at least an hour before you start -- OW -- "

Something cool and hard clocks him square in the face and he bolts upright, rubbing his face to see what his dead brother just hit him with -- small and heart-shaped and landed in his lap, Klaus picks up one of the last things he expected to find: a wooden planchette.

“You’re kidding me.”

“The board’s over here,” Ben grins playfully, watching Klaus rake his fingers through his matted hair.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, really?” he groans. “A fucking _ouija_ board?”

“Let’s play.”

“Oh please,” Klaus laughs at him, arching a brow. “ _Spare me_ , Ben -- "

“Come on, why don’t we see who’s here?” 

“If I wanted to know who was here I would,” Klaus barks at him, but Ben looks delighted. His stupid smile is infectious. 

“You got something better to do?”

Yeah, he doesn’t say, thinking about taking a walk around the nearest park, but who’s he kidding -- this neighborhood is near-deserted, nobody to buy off of within ten miles, tops. He’s right stranded until his ride makes his appearance at iHop down the road, and his phone hasn’t vibrated once since 2am the day before. He gives his brother the stink eye for a cold minute before dragging his feet over to the burned spot on the carpet where the tacky wooden board lay. He breathes out his nostrils, grunting as he shoves the old beer cans and catalogues off the coffee table and lines up the candles around the board.

Hands shaky, he lights each candle and steadies his hands on the planchette, glancing at Ben for reassurance before sliding the scope over the corner of the board where HELLO is printed.

“Uh, I’ve actually never used one of these before -- never needed one,” he says aloud, wishing he knew who could be listening but focusing is so hard, (being sober is hard), “so I’m not really sure what the appropriate greeting is, so...Hi?” 

The planchette starts moving almost instantly. 

Klaus feels his heart rate kick up, fingers sticking to the wooden scope as it starts to glide through the printed alphabet:

**H E L L O**

He’s not sure why he’s so shocked that it works, but his jaw falls open anyway. “Holy shit....who uh. Who am I speaking to?”

**D O N O T K**

“Do not what, what, do not ask?” He glances at Ben, who just shrugs, predictably unhelpful, and then it hits him; “Wait, do you not know? Do you not remember your name?”

The reply comes just as quickly as the last.

**N O**

“Oh, shit that sucks,” he says sincerely, “Uh, can you maybe remember something else? Are you a man, woman, neither?”

**W O M A N**

“Alright, younger, older?”

**L I K E Y O U**

Klaus catches Ben’s eye just in time to see him frowning. 

“Like me? Shit, what...what happened to you?”

**N O**

“Shit, sorry, I -- maybe you don’t remember that either...Am I disturbing your eternal slumber?”

**N O**

“Oh, well that’s great -- I mean, either way, I should be leaving tomorrow so you won’t -- “

The planchette jerks, almost tearing itself away from his touch as it slides around the board, like it’s eager. Klaus takes in a shaky breath, giggling like a school boy.

**C U T E**

“Who, me?” he manages, cracking up at Ben who’s shaking his head, vanishing from his sight with a dramatic roll of his eyes. Leaving him be with a dead woman in hiding who’s apparently hitting on him. Well, there’s a first for everything. Klaus leans back, relaxed and amused, almost forgetting that he needs to keep his fingers on the planchette. “Are you _hitting_ on me, Mystery Girl?” 

**M A Y B E**

“Ohohoho that’s adorable, why don’t you come out and show yourself? I promise I don’t bite. Well. Not hard. Unless you ask.”

**S C A R Y**

Klaus furrows his brow, worried for a moment he might have said the wrong thing -- she could very well have been bitten, either by a wild animal or some freak who did horrific things to her -- if he’s made her relive some repressed awful memory of her passing, he doesn’t think he could forgive himself for that. If he’s gonna flirt back with this ghost, he’s gonna have to utilize more of his rational brain cells and not just his feral ones. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says gently, grinning. “I’m Klaus. Uh, I know it might be a little unfair, you not knowing your name, but uh, we could even the playing field a little if you come out and say hi.” 

**I A M N E R V**

He waits for the planchette to keep moving, but it’s halted on the V and he supposes, judging by the one-word answers, she doesn’t have the energy to keep up like this. He shakes his head, softened by the vulnerability of the spirit -- he’s never talked to someone like this before. 

“Nervous, right, that makes sense -- well I won’t pressure you. God knows I know how frightening _that is_. Anxiety, am I right?”

No response this time. The pointer is quivering, flitting to and fro between letters and Klaus frowns, starting to believe himself to be disturbing this poor girl. 

“You know, I’m enjoying this, I truly am,” he starts to drawl, eyeing a forgotten pack of cigarettes left on a shelf, “but I can tell you’re troubled, and I don’t want to disrupt any -- "

The planchette trembles beneath his fingers as it starts to crawl towards different letters, like a desperate plea: 

**D O N T L E A V E**

A phrase that would easily scare the shit out of anyone else is gut-wrenching for Klaus to read, heartstrings pulled taut as he searches hopelessly around the room for some fleeting vision of whoever this lonely woman is. He can’t sit here with a board all day, but he can’t just leave her either. But what more can he say if not something to coax her out of hiding?

“I’ll stay,” he tells her, swallowing, “I’ll stay with you, for now, but I…”

**T O U C H M E**

To the average person who can’t communicate with the dearly departed, coaxing the spirits to apparition is foolhardy, at best -- not the smartest move when you’re not sure if the entity you’re talking to is malevolent or not. And even Klaus, not being average in any way at all, has been made to have his doubts about conjuring the dead -- and that would be putting it lightly, all things considered. But somehow now, despite the alarming climb in his heart rate, he wants to make this obviously melancholy dead girl somehow feel less alone. 

As if she can hear him thinking, the planchette moves again.

**P L E A S E**

His voice trembles. “I don’t -- I don’t know if I can.”

**T R Y**

That’s the last phrase she spells out before the energy radiating from the board vanishes completely. The burning candles are blown out and the rickety blinds shake and Klaus feels something, a presence that doesn’t belong to his brother, but emits a similar, non-threatening vibe -- pure and warm and wanting. 

It’s safe to lift his fingers. She’s not on the board anymore. The planchette swings to GOODBYE and a new weight settles into his hands, like someone is holding them from across the table. Whoever this woman is, she definitely doesn’t want to be seen, but undoubtedly aches to be _felt_. 

“You’re so lonely,” Klaus croaks, hands trembling in the air as he tries to imagine her, the shape of her hands, the color of her skin. The response is instantaneous, inviting and all-encompassing, as if his whole body is being cocooned in a down blanket. The spaces between his fingers are filled with a maddeningly soft touch and he leans back against the couch, a pleasant weight pushing forward into his chest.

“Oh this is _so_ not fair,” he complains, half-laughing as he feels a heated sensation crawling up his already barely-there shirt, like someone running their hands along the expanse of his chest. His neck flares up with heat as it feels like there’s teeth gnawing at the sensitive skin under his jaw, nipping and biting. 

“Oh, Christ, honey _please_ , let me talk to you,” Klaus pleads with her, letting his own hands slide across his lower abs and tease the band of his skirt. He hikes it up, inviting more of the sensation and he is immediately rewarded, streaks of red scratch marks appearing on his thighs as he can only guess where her hands must be now. He jerks his hips up on instinct, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood -- he can’t imagine how ridiculous this must look, bucking his hips up into nothing, but it feels unlike anything, an engrossing and all-consuming heat. He wants to ask for more, but he doesn’t know how this (whatever this is) can possibly progress -- and yet, he’s already farther along than he could have imagined. Shit, when darling old Dad said he wasn’t even skimming the surface of his potential, he wonders if ghost-fucking could possibly have been among one of the many talents he predicted his son having. Well, wouldn’t Reggie be proud.

_Klaus --_

Eyes fluttering open, Klaus looks for the source of the airy voice, but there’s no one still, just searing touches across his neck, along his thighs. Agonizingly pleasing pressure and tightness. Knitting his brows together, he begs the absent ghost again --

“Please, please come to me, I just want to see you, just for a minute…” 

And then it stops. 

It feels like being dunked in a freezing swimming pool. The air is gone from his lungs as he writhes on the floor, whining at the sudden loss of contact. He snatches the cardigan off the couch and wraps it around his shoulders, shuddering. 

"Have fun?"

Klaus scoffs, picking himself up from the floor. "Not nearly enough."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Love Me Dead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18414113) by [humblepirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/humblepirate/pseuds/humblepirate)




End file.
